family: a poem

family tree poem



I wrote this poem after reconnecting with a cousin that I hadn’t seen since I was little.  In our conversation, I noticed that we had a lot in common, though we hadn’t really grown up together.  It made me wonder, what is it that makes us who we are?  What is our choice and what is predetermined by our great- great-great grandparents.  What do we hand down through generations?  I thought back through the generations of pain, heartache, loss, creativity, ideas, talents.  I asked her something along the lines of, “Do you think that maybe to be an artist, one also must suffer?”  It made me wonder what my family would look like without all of the suffering?  Would we lose all of the creativity and drive?  Is that what fuels the fire?  What paints canvases and plays to concert halls?  Is that what inspires the magic?  I don’t know.


charmaine/ time-travelling: a poem

mindlessly scrolling, I wait in the doctor’s office

I close my eyes

the melody playing softly

lifts me off the sticky leather seat, out of the lobby


eleven, standing in the music room, practicing my alto sax, tiny fingers, barely long enough to reach every key

sharp! b sharp!

he corrects me from the living room davenport

I blush, embarrassed at my fumble

I start from the top, try to get every note right

I want to impress him with how much I’ve been practicing

no, no! more vibrato! you’re ruining it



try again.

fingers flail awkwardly


the door pushes open

he huffs and pretends to be upset

house slippers and ascot cap, holding his tenor sax

“okay, let’s take it from the top”

he winks


fingers dance purposefully across the keys, he closes his eyes

I smile, blessed with the sound

the door creaks open again

Grandma smiles, taking a break from cooking dinner to join me and Grandpa

she takes her place at the piano bench and just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, she adds

infinite magic


there are lyrics to this song but they aren’t necessary

nothing could make this moment better


kaitlyn? the doctor will see you now

not now, please. can’t you see we’re busy?

just let me have my song.


open my eyes.


Grandpa’s gone.



Finer Than Frog Hairs : 11×14, Acrylic on Canvas, Kaitlyn Davis 2018


In Memory of Ernest Charles Edwards (1919-2017)